


Inanimate

by HathorAroha



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: AU Fic, Alternate Ending, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-11-21 21:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11365800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HathorAroha/pseuds/HathorAroha
Summary: The last rose petal falls, the Enchantress sees Belle's love for the lost Beast, and transforms him back into a human. But it only transforms the Beast back into a human, and all other servants and other enchanted people in the castle who had also been cursed remain inanimate. Adam vows to face the Enchantress, if she ever appears again at all. For all he knows, she could leave him in a castle full of antiques that once were servants or visitors to the castle, forever. (Alternate ending fic, multi-chapter)





	1. That I Live and You are Gone

As he strolled hand in hand with Belle into the castle, the prince could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Looking up at a window, he saw it still appeared like a cloudy pre-dawn morning, with no sign of the sun peeping out through the clouds. Glancing at Belle, he could see that she too looked unsettled by the peculiar silence of the castle, save for the distant sounds of retreating villagers. 

 _It’s far too quiet,_ the prince could hear his own blood pumping in his body in this quietude. _Eerie._

It was the kind of silence where you just _knew_ something was not right. No distant melody of a harpsichord, no constant ticking of a clock, no nothing.

“Belle…” he began, his whisper trailing away at once–even that had sounded like a shout.

“I feel it too,” she whispered in agreement.

Unbidden, snatches of reminders from past conversations of the servants with him came back.

“ _I grew two more feathers today…”_

_“I grow more metallic every day…”_

_“Garderobe is finding it harder to stay awake…”_

His hand tightened on Belle’s, feeling hers respond in kind.

“The servants.”

He could not hear his servants–and yet shouldn’t they have come to see what had happened to their prince? Judging by the retreating villagers, they had managed to stave off the siege on the castle. Did they not see what had happened? Would they not have heard the gunshots?

_Perhaps they too escaped with the villagers. I wouldn’t blame them either._

_“_ No, they’ve been so loyal to you all these years.” Belle assured him, quickening up her pace to keep up with him, “They loved you despite everything.”

Had he really said that aloud?

“I don’t think they would just disappear on you even now.”

He stopped short inside the entrance to the same part of the palace where the Enchantress had bestowed the curse so many years ago, even upon the unwitting servants and other visitors of the castle, including Maestro Cadenza and his wife, Madame de Garderobe.

_The Enchantress said nothing about the others, had she?_

Didn’t they deserve to come back too?

_Certainly more deserving than I ever did._

He had to find out _now._ He had to look for them, wherever they were–praying fervently they weren’t–had not become– _they couldn’t be_ inanimate.

_I need to find them._

Letting go of Belle’s hand, he pelted off at a mad run, Belle right behind him, bare feet slapping on polished marble and stone as they tore for the main entrance where the sounds and screams of villagers and servants in battle had rose to greet his ears not an hour before.

_Maybe the Enchantress is still transforming them back to human._

He had to stay optimistic, had to stay hopeful, even in the face of this horrible oncoming trepidation. Behind him, he could hear Belle a couple paces behind him, almost as breathless from exertion and fear as he was.

The prince stumbled to a stop, just barely stopping himself from falling, when he tripped over an upside-down footstool on the outside landing leading out of the castle into the main courtyard. At the same moment, he heard a horrified cry from Belle.

“Madame de Garderobe!”

Whirling around to look behind him, he saw Belle had clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide with horror as she stared at what had once been an animate wardrobe who pined for her harpsichord husband. He turned his head to spy a harpsichord behind him–Maestro Cadenza. The prince guessed at once that Madame de Garderobe had somehow managed to find a way all the way down here to join the battle, and now here she was, much too still, across from her also motionless husband.

Belle gasped again. “Adam look! It…there’s more down there!”

A chill exploded through his whole body, heart thudding in his chest, stomach twisting with a mad lurch of nausea. He tried to control his voice, not let it shake, tried to be as calm as possible when he asked Belle what she saw behind him standing on the courtyard.

“Have a look for yourself.”

The prince shook his head, “Tell me, so I might…prepare.”

Belle first took a couple deep breaths, both her hands clasping his to her heart. Closing her eyes, she bowed her forehead on their hands before raising her head up again to look behind him.

“There is…” she faltered, “a teapot and cup on a tea tray.”

_The little boy never deserved such a fate, and nor did his mother._

“…a clock.”

_Cogsworth._

“…a cloak hanger, a candelabra, and feather duster.”

_Chapeau. Lumiere. Plumette._

It could only mean one thing: the last petal had fallen after all.

Too late for his servants’ lives, for his…

Wait.

He watched as Belle bowed her head, tears dripping from her eyes.

“The last petal…” she rasped, “It had fallen.”

_Wait. Something doesn’t seem right._

If he was no longer a beast, but human now, then the last petal couldn’t have fallen. And yet…

Too late. It was too late. Maybe the petal had not fallen too soon for Belle to confess her love, but fell too soon to save his servants and the visiting opera singer and her husband, the Maestro Cadenza.

Steeling any pitiful scraps of will he had left in him, the prince inhaled a deep breath and slowly turned around to be confronted with what would appear to the unaware observer as a pile of rejected knick-knacks waiting to be taken to the nearest second-hand shop.

“Oh no…”

Holding on tight to Belle’s hand, interlacing his fingers between hers, he slowly made his way down the remaining steps to the assortment of objects that once were his own servants.

The first thing–no, _servant_ –he passed was the cloak hanger, Chapeau. He had now become just another ornate cloak hanger one might see in any wealthy Frenchman’s home. Adam might not have been close to him, but it ripped at his heart all the same to see what had become of him. No one would know this cloak hanger, like the other now inanimate objects, had once been human.

Then–the tea tray, with Mrs Potts and her son–now looking for all the world like an ordinary teapot and cup. He couldn’t look at them a second longer, heart aching as the agonising, all-too-familiar grief of the loss of his mother cut to his very soul. After the loss of his own mother in childhood, she had become the next closest thing to one. 

_This was at my own hand._

Past the tea tray and cloak, not more than a few feet away were Cogsworth, Lumiere, and Plumette lying not a metre away from the candelabra. Already, Belle was walking over to the feather duster that once had been Plumette, and had gently lifted her into her hands to lay it–no, not it, _her_ –next to the candelabra.

Adam, sure his legs weren’t going to hold him up much longer, quietly moved to kneel beside Belle, eyes roaming over the still clock, feather duster, and candelabra. He could only look a second at the feather duster, the lifeless red “eye” reminding him all too much that once this had been a servant too. A servant in love with another–Lumiere, now just an ornate golden candelabra with “arms” that twisted around the bases of the flameless candle holders. The candelabra looked now mostly a candelabra but for the face that, to anyone else would appear as an intricately skilled mark of craftsmanship, right down to the fine lines in the facial features. No one except the prince would ever have known that this was once a real, human face. It agonised him to see those features too still, too lifeless, as though he were looking at a dead man—and not just any stranger, but one whom had been a dear friend to him in childhood.

_Lumiere was never supposed to be without life and energy._

“This was my doing,” the prince mourned in a soft voice–he wasn’t sure whom he was speaking to–the servants or to Belle? Perhaps both. “I failed to set you free.”

_Am I still as cruel as my father?_

He certainly felt it to be so, unable to bear looking any longer at the inanimate objects before him, knowing this was another cruel display of the Enchantress’s magic. Belle’s hand slipped into his again, interlacing their fingers together. He held on, never wanting to let her go again, lest she too slipped away forever like the servants he had come to consider like a family.

He found himself wondering if it had been really worth this, turning human again, only to find his servants had not. Belle loved him as a human now, but she also had loved him while he was still a Beast. Yet, he would not hesitate to choose to become a Beast again with no chance of returning to being a human, if it meant his servants’ lives could be restored. At least they would be free. They could escape this castle, escape the Beast, and live full lives in the village.

Now, sitting here next to Belle, her hand in his, he felt more helpless and alone–despite her very presence–than he ever had as a Beast the past many years.

“I would become a Beast again, Belle, if it meant they would be free as humans again.”

Belle held on tighter, wordless, yet speaking many.


	2. Phantom Shadows on the Floor

The prince felt sure hours passed as he and Belle mourned the lost servants. He could not bear to touch the inanimate objects they had become—what if they turned to dust? What if he accidentally hurt them? It was so easy to break a porcelain teapot, let alone tea cup. A clock face could be broken beyond repair, gears and cogs pulled apart. A candelabra’s candle holders could be broken off, or the finely etched details rubbed away until naught but a ghost of its décor remained. If he left them alone, did not even brush a finger over them, they could not be broken by his own hand.

On the other hand…

If he left them out here in the elements, then nature itself would destroy them—wind, rain, snow, hail, and all manner of dastardly weather. Any wild animal, unknowing the household articles were once human, could gnaw, bite, kick, or trample upon them until they shattered beyond repair and recognition.

As though she read his thoughts, he heard Belle musing on whether to bury or bring them inside the castle and lay them to rest in some unused, yet well-lit room. He knew he could not bring himself—nor, he was certain, could Belle—to use them in the manner one would any ordinary object of their ilk. This went much deeper, _so_ much more so, than for “sentimental measures”.

Should they bury them? Leave them buried in the soil, to be disturbed by wayward wildlife?

He forced himself to take a deep breath, to try to hold back his tears long enough to speak, not wishing to weep in front of Belle. Not now, not yet—he wasn’t ready to let himself cry. He knew if he let himself yield to tears, he would never stop, not for a long time.

“We…we should carry them inside—I know of a room in the castle that may well serve for their final resting place.”

Belle took a moment to think on this.

“Do the servants not have their own quarters? Can we lay them to rest there?”

He imagined them back in their own quarters—a clock resting on the mantelpiece of Cogsworth’s quarters, a feather-duster lying on what would have been Plumette’s bed, and a candelabra standing on the night table at the head of Lumiere’s bed.

“Poetic,” he commented, “I think that is a beautiful thought, Belle.”

Belle’s hand reached out toward the antiques, but then drew back, hesitant, fingers trembling.

“May…”

Adam tucked a hand under her chin, turning her face so she gazed up into his eyes. Leaning forward, he gave her the tenderest of kisses on the bridge of her nose, touching his forehead against hers.

“I trust you,” he whispered, “with all my heart.”

Afraid his heart would fail his will, the prince picked up the candelabra, surprised by how heavy it felt in his hands. He remembered Lumiere’s candelabra form being so light when he carried him in one paw as a Beast, and now, cradled in two human hands, the weight of gold sunk into his palms. He was barely aware of Belle stooping to pick up the feather duster that once was Plumette, cradling her—he still couldn’t think of them as “it”—as she returned to his side.

“They deserve to be together, even in death,” she said, though her eyes remained on the feather duster in her arms.

A silent nod from the prince, remembering how the candelabra and feather duster were almost never seen alone, just as they were never apart when they had been humans once upon a time. Images danced in his mind’s eye of their devotion—the way they had always sat together in the dining hall, sneaking forkfuls of food into each other’s mouths, how they had always stood close together with Lumiere’s arm wrapped protectively around her tiny waist, and the way they’d shown how true love never faded or weakened with time, only growing stronger through each passing day. He remembered how Lumiere had always been courting all the ladies and flirting with any maiden who came his way, even as a candelabra, before over the last countless years, showing an increasing devotion to Plumette. He would still have the playful flirt here and there with others, but not as much as in his younger years.

_They deserved to grow old together._

Even now, he wasn’t letting them be parted, even if they had become antiques without life.

“We will place them in Lumiere’s quarters,” the prince decided, “Then they are not separated even in death.”

Together, they turned to face the doors, flanked by a wardrobe and a harpsichord. He didn’t speak as they made their way through partially melted snow on up the steps and into the castle. Belle seemed to understand that he wished to be with his own thoughts and respected his need for silence.

“I knew Lumiere since I was about three or four,” Adam said as they began to climb some stairs, “He was always…alive. I mean, in the sense of energy—he could never stay still for a minute.”

Belle nodded slowly, but she was listening.

“He was excellent at entertainment—he got along well with my mother, whom he amused very much with his antics,” here, he managed a hollow smile, “always called me his second shadow.”

A scene from a time when he was a little boy burned in his memories—when he had suddenly become seriously ill as a little boy, and had been immediately ushered to bed by his mother, who stayed by his bedside all day and night. At one point, Lumiere had come in, making a big show out of looking for something, until he spotted the boy prince.

“ _Ah!”_ he had exclaimed, rushing over to the boy, sitting down at the foot of the bed after a nod of permission from the prince’s mother, “I wondered where my second shadow had gone this morning! For I had looked and only one shadow followed me, and here you are. You’ll be alright in no time, your mother will take great care of you, and I’ll have my second shadow back again.”

No matter what happened, he truly had been warmth and light.

 “I think in a way, I wanted to be like him, always optimistic and cheerful. At least…before my father changed me, and then the curse itself.” His eyes fell to the still face of the candelabra, the expression far too sombre for someone once so full of life. “Lumiere certainly lived up to his family name.”

“You were close to him?”

“Since the first day we met, really—we became close friends.”

Another recollection, of how they had begun drifting apart when his father had started to turn him into the cold prince he would become. By the time he was thirteen, he had been convinced that he was to indulge in no more “child’s entertainment” and that he was to keep his distance from the “old fool” as his father had called Lumiere. The man’s only role, he had been taught, was to serve as his maitre d’hotel, not his source of entertainment when he needed some amusement or cheer.

They now reached the floor where the servants’ quarters would be, Adam leading the way to the appropriate wing.

“What about Plumette?” Belle asked.

“She and Lumiere were in love from day one, according to Lumiere—and to have seen them you would have thought so too.”

“Did you…get along with her?”

“Thankfully I knew her before father twisted me to see women as…nothing more than objects—” he winced again, shuddering, “—of desire. But I learned over time.”

Belle nodded again without a word.

“I think part of my bitterness came during the course of my curse, was seeing how devoted Maestro Cadenza and Madame de Garderobe, and of course Plumette and Lumiere, were to each other, and that being a reminder there was no place for anyone to come to love a Beast in this world.” His eyes roamed between the feather duster and candelabra. “Now I know better. Here, this way.”

They turned around another corner, down another hallway until they finally arrived at the servants’ quarters in a long abandoned wing of the castle. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been down this way, even if for a small chat with one of his friends before the night of the curse. What he remembered were shared red wines on a balcony beyond another pair of double doors, and music-making in cool summer evenings, like his own private performance.

Now the music and laughter was snuffed forever like a flame in a great wind.

“Here we are,” the prince said, stopping before the doors to Lumiere’s quarters.

Taking a deep breath, he turned the knob, surprised by how easy it turned under his grasp. He had expected it to become stiff or rusty from years of disuse, and yet it still turned without a hesitation. Pushing the door open, he sneezed a little as a puff of dust darted up into the air, as though startled by the unexpected disturbance. Inside, gloom and dim lighting crept in, slinking fretfully into the shadows and corners of the large room. Thick layers of dust coated the curtains over the windows, spider-webs rustled between the unlit candles in the candelabras fastened to the walls, and a nose-wrinkling scent of mould and damp rose into his nostrils. It was as though no one had been in here for many years, and indeed, he knew all too painfully that this was the awful truth.  

Leading Belle inside, he padded on quiet feet to the fireplace, carefully placing the candelabra atop the mantelpiece grey and gritty with a decade of settled dust. He held his breath as the candelabra with its still face settled on the mantelpiece, until it stayed firm and steady in place. Unable to bear looking at the still face of Lumiere etched in gold a second longer, the prince abruptly turned away, gazing now upon Belle still cradling Plumette in her arms.

“Where shall I place her?”

The prince cleared away space next to Lumiere on the mantelpiece, setting down trinkets on a nearby shelf.

“Right there,” he half-whispered, “Next to Lumiere.”

With a solemn nod, Belle stepped forward and lay the feather-duster down next to the candelabra that once had been Lumiere. Adam’s heart ached at seeing how gentle Belle was with laying Plumette next to Lumiere, even going so far as to smooth down her feathers before pulling her hand away.

“They look so natural together,” Belle whispered, “Just like two lovers should be.”

“I’m sorry,” Adam whispered to Lumiere and Plumette, “I wish I could have seen you freed from the curse. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

He let himself linger a moment longer in the room before taking Belle’s hand, leading her away from the dreadful scene, shutting the door behind them with uncharacteristic quietude.

“Let’s go bring in the others,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “They deserve their final rest too.”

 

The next servants they brought with them were Chip and Mrs Potts, still holding steady on the tea tray upon which they had set. Belle had to reassure him several times that he would be fine carrying the tea tray into the castle and up the stairs. Yet, at the same time, he could see in her eyes she understood his anxieties. Porcelain was such a fragile element that it was no surprise one did come to fear breaking what once was Chip and Mrs Potts.  

This time, they traversed the steps in a more cautious fashion, Adam’s arms aching with the effort of trying not to shake the tea tray too much. His heart caught in his chest every time the tea pot rattled too much, or the teacup slipped about on its tiny plate. Only when they reached the quarters in which Mrs Potts stayed, did Adam allow himself to breathe a little easier—not much, but enough to unwind tense muscles in his shoulders as he took precarious steps inside the room. Clearly, it had not been dusted in a long time, for to his horror, Adam immediately sensed a sneeze coming on.

_Merde, not now!_

“Belle, quick, hold this,” Adam shoved the tray at Belle, who took and steadied it in both hands as Adam sneezed not once, but four times, glad he had the foresight to pass the tray to his beloved.

“Bless you four-fold,” Belle remarked, Adam spotting a little smile hovering at the corner of her mouth.

“Thank you, Belle.”

Belle’s eyes roamed the room, taking in the languid, dust-choked curtains, the windows covered with long-abandoned cobwebs, and the moth-eaten sheets of the cot in which Chip would have lain when he had been human an eternity ago.

“Where shall we lay them to rest?” Belle whispered, tray still steady in her hands.

Together, they strolled to the large table, where Belle carefully set the tray down in its centre. No sooner had she done this, then his blood ran cold on closer examination of the tea set: their faces had completely faded away. Now they looked no less ordinary than the countless other tea sets in the castle’s kitchens and elsewhere. He tried not to think about Chip, having missed out on all that childhood had to offer yet, and how not even a trace of him remained but for any few belongings he might have had. Adam’s eyes burned, one hand coming up to clutch the side of the table, his other moving to grip Belle’s.

“I’m sorry, Chip, I wish you could have had the happy childhood my own father never allowed me.”

Belle squeezed his hand tight, her other hand coming up to touch his upper arm. “Mrs Potts would have made sure of it.”

“I know,” Adam conceded, “His mother was excellent of character.”

As they closed the door on exiting the room again, the castle seemed to ring with the cacophony of the absence of a child’s laughter and the loud footsteps of a little boy rampaging through the halls with carefree abandon _._

 

They agreed during their return outside that this would be one final trip, for neither could bear to be faced again and again with the faceless deaths of the castle staff and the wardrobe and harpsichord that once had been the musical duo, Madame de Garderobe and Maestro Cadenza. Madame de Garderobe’s little lap dog, now forever a footstool, the prince gently placed—upright on its four legs—at the feet of the wardrobe.

Now only a clock and coat rack remained—Cogsworth and Chapeau. It was Belle who carefully lifted up the coat hanger to carry into the castle, at the same time as the prince picked up the clock, cradling it carefully in both hands. While Cogsworth and Chapeau might not have been the best conversationalists in the castle, the prince still felt the keen loss of them in his heart. Chapeau had always been very quiet, but little things he did showed how he cared—readjusting a popped collar of a cloak, quietly pointing out if buttons had been misaligned during buttoning, quickly making someone’s worn-looking wig look like new again, and even brushing down a coat before someone went out on a little excursion. He had been in at least his mid-thirties, perhaps even late thirties, but to look at him, one would have guessed him a decade younger.

As for Cogsworth, it was the little moments in between harrumphs and grumbles and fussiness that truly showed he could care, or at least relax a little, thanks in part to Lumiere goading him on. Though strict about other servants adhering to their duties with precise timing, Adam remembered seeing him take the arm of a harried servant sick with a fever or a bad case of the common cold, and tell them they could slow down or take a break. If the servant was then unable to bear more of their chores, it was Cogsworth who insisted they go and have some bedrest, and he would find someone else to take over. It was a normal sight to see (or, more likely, hear) Cogsworth bickering with Lumiere on a near-hourly basis, but he never left his friend’s side, protective and loyal as ever. While it was Cogsworth’s steady dedication to his work that kept the castle going, even under the curse, Lumiere was the one who persuaded him to relax a little every now and again.

Now both were gone forever, their faces faded from sight and from everyone’s memories but for Belle’s and Adam’s.

 _If there was a way to bring you all back again,_ the prince thought, _I would take it in a heartbeat._

As before, the couple retraced their footsteps to the servants’ quarters whereupon they put them to rest in their own quarters. Belle and Adam could not bear to place Chapeau in a corner of the aforementioned servant’s quarters, like they would any ordinary cloak hanger. Rather, he was placed near a large window where he overlooked what would have been a beautiful view of a sunset, had there been one lovely enough to see in all these cursed years.

Finally, last, but certainly not least, they quietly made their way to Cogsworth’s severely ordered and structured quarters, Adam placing what now looked to the world an ordinary antique clock on the mantelpiece of the fireplace that had never seen a spark or ember in over a decade in its heart.

Only when he had shut the door behind him for good, did the prince then collapse into Belle’s arms, letting himself shake with desperate sobs, clinging on to his beloved. Her arms came up to wrap tight around him, fingers grasping the back of his shirt, her own tears soaking into its fabric at his shoulder, sharing in his lamentation. As long as she clung to him, he would hold her even closer to his heart, not wishing to lose her again. Yet, even her presence, her love, her compassionate spirit could never bring back the servants whom had loved him so much, so deeply even despite his beastly behaviour both pre-curse and during a great majority of his cursed life as a Beast.

If only this was some horrible nightmare, some waking terror where the servants had become inanimate forever, where he only imagined he was human again. Perhaps he really had died after all, and this was some horrible, too-real limbo before descending into Hell or wherever he was going.

But how could this be a dream? Belle’s warmth, embrace, her own tears on his shoulder, the way she felt in his arms, and when they had kissed what seemed like an eternity ago—

The chill of the candelabra in his hands, the fearful rattling of a tea set that seemed to resonate in his own soul, and the corners and curves of antique designs on a clock—all too real, all too true. A waking nightmare, a dream he could never escape from.

Even Belle’s embrace was not enough, would never be enough to soothe him. No matter how many tears he cried, nor how many begging prayers he sent up to wake him from this horror, nor how tightly he clung on to Belle, it would never bring back his servants. He could beg all he liked, he could talk to them all he wished like they were still listening, still alive in their antique forms somehow, he was too late.

And he swore on his life he would never forgive himself, so long as his beloved servants were antiques forever.

 


	3. Phantom Faces at the Window

The rest of his morning meandered in a foggy haze, the hours sloughing away into the abyss of his grief. Belle tried to entice him with some lunch down in the kitchens, a sweet, dear gesture, but in all honesty, Adam did not feel like eating at all.

_Why should I eat when my servants will never partake in life’s nourishment again?_

Nevertheless, for Belle’s sake, he took a few nibbles of his meal, quickly feeling full after less than ten bites. It was as though his stomach had shrunk, shrivelling away in the presence of his own grief, pulling away from sustenance, refusing the nourishment of life.

_We should have been celebrating renewed life now._

The kitchen should never be this silent, without the roar of the stove fire and the cacophony of pans and pots on the stove top. He yearned for the chef’s shouts as he ordered everyone else around the kitchen, or for tall, quiet Chapeau to be diligently applying himself to his chores down here. He wanted to hear Lumiere’s merry whistling and footfalls as he checked up on how everyone was going and even sneaked a sample taste here and there when the chef was not looking. He had to look away when Belle began pouring hot cups of tea from a teapot, reminded sharply of Mrs Potts’ last words to him.

_“—I promise you, you’ll be drinking cold tea for the rest of your days!”_

If drinking cold tea for the rest of his life meant they would be brought back to full humanness again, he would willingly accept it in a heartbeat. Even if it had to be in a room that was dark and _very, very_ dusty.

“You’re not going to eat any more of that?”

Belle’s question brought him back to Earth with a jolt. He found he had been staring down at his lunch, his fork already placed back down on the side of the plate. Not even half of his meal had been touched.

“I suppose not,” he admitted, “If you want it…”

“I can save it for later if you want.”

Belle found a cloth to place over the uneaten food to discourage any hungry, unwanted insects from having a feast too. Maybe he might eat more of the food later, though he was sure even by dinnertime he would not feel much more hunger than he did now.

“It’s alright, Adam,” Belle’s arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind his chair, her cheek leaning on top of his head. “It’s not unusual for hunger to leave in the presence of grief.”

Adam closed his eyes, relaxing back into Belle, his hands coming up to hold hers, wishing he could just stay this way forever—somehow turn into stone, inanimate, like his servants and the musicians, and he would be there in Belle’s hold for eternity.  At least he would be free of this agony, knowing the servants’ fates was his fault. If only he hadn’t been so selfish, so uncouth, this would never have happened. If he had let the Enchantress in—even if she appeared as an old beggar woman—his household and the visiting musicians would still be human and alive. He wouldn’t be sitting in a cold kitchen whose very silence seemed to accuse him.

_Why didn’t the Enchantress just strike me down instead?_

Sure, he would be dead, but the palace still alive with fully human servants and guests. Plumette and Lumiere would still waltz into the early hours of night, Cadenza and Garderobe would play until the sunrise, and all would still be celebrating and feasting until the stars fled in the approaching light of dawn.

“Do you want to go into the library?” Belle asked him, “It’ll be cosier up there.”

“I really don’t want to read right now.”

“Still cosier. I can light a fire if you wish.” Her arms unwound from around his shoulders, her hands gently massaging them, lowering her head to give him a tender kiss in his hair. “I’m here. I’m never leaving you, I promise.”

Once in the library, he eased himself onto his favourite sofa, Belle following suit, head snuggling into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. She lapsed, as he did, into her own thoughts, or just simply into her own quiet grief for what had transpired. Without consciously thinking about it, he let the fingers of one hand trail through her hair, closing his eyes, letting himself just sink into the warm weight of Belle leaning on him, letting him be as quiet as he wished to be. He tried to think-about all the quiet times he had with Belle in the library, having deep, hours-long discussions about themes, characters, and why they did what they did or thought what they thought.

But then a memory intruded—a memory of having once entered the library only to hear Belle reading a child’s book to a teacup—Chip—who was clearly deeply absorbed in the story. He remembered how he had stalled just for a minute or so, leaning against a shelf, just listening to the sound of Belle’s melodious voice, and how much she clearly enjoyed reading to the child.

A child who would never have a story read to him again.

_I want to find her. Somehow._

He opened his eyes again, his hand resting, still in Belle’s hair.

 _If I find her, I will_ command _her to undo the rest of this spell she lay upon my palace._

He would drink a thousand cold teas if it meant it would bring Mrs Potts and Chip back.

He would live out the rest of his life in complete darkness, not even a lone candle flame to light his way, if it would bring Lumiere back.

He would live in dirt and rot and layers of dust if it meant it would bring Plumette back.

He would close his eyes to the passage of passing seasons and the movement of the celestial bodies in the sky if it meant it would bring Cogsworth back.

He would choose complete deafness, unable to hear a single note of the grandest opera in France, if it meant it would bring Cadenza and Madame de Garderobe back.

He would live out the rest of his life as a Beast, forgetting all his humanity, all those he had once loved—even Belle—if it meant freeing everyone again.

The prince gasped in surprise when he felt a sharp poke in his side. Looking down, he saw Belle staring into his face, eyes concerned, but he saw some flicker of determination in them too. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Did you say something my love?”

“We have to do something.”

He didn’t have to ask what she was talking about.

“Belle…it’s too l—”

“No!” she interrupted, voice fierce, “It can’t be too late—we have to find her somehow! Sitting around like this won’t bring them back.”

“Belle—”

“ _You came back._ I still believe they can too. If the Enchantress—”

“The last petal has already fallen,” he argued, quietly, desperate to make her see reason, to see there was nothing to be done, “And we have _no idea_ where she is—or if she lives in the same country, let alone continent!”

“The book.”

“Huh?”

Removing herself from his embrace, Belle got up off the sofa and scooted to the tables, looking carefully through a pile of books, moving them around as she searched for “the book.”

Then it clicked.

Getting up from the sofa, the prince rushed to Belle’s side, taking her hand in his, eyes downcast as he gently raised her fingers to kiss them.

“It will not work—the Enchantress would not allow us to meet her in her own book.”

“There’s no sense in not trying at _least._ ”

“Believe me, Belle, I have tried before.”

“What about the mirror?” she whispered, “Have you tried…?”

“What do you think?”

Belle's shoulders sagged, shaking her head. “There has to be a way. There _has_ to be.” 

* * *

 Evening sunlight fell over the castle--how had the hours flown by so fast? Just as it had in his own childhood, and even during the curse itself, books let him disappear from the here and now, desperately absorbing himself into their imagined worlds. Belle never left his side, eyes red from crying, dabbing at them every now and again.

Only when the sun began to shine low and gold through the windows, did Belle finally put her book down. 

"I think we need to have some dinner," she said, though she didn't sound enthused about the idea, "We need something. Don’t worry, I’ve cooked many times before. I always cooked for my father and I back…back in my village.”

But Adam knew he could not bring himself to get up, to walk with Belle to the kitchens, nor even to wait in the adjoining dining area. Even if Belle served up the best food in all of France with the finest dinnerware, it wouldn’t be the same without Mrs Potts asking if he would like a spot of tea, nor without Lumiere to ensure it was prepared to the best quality one could ask for, even as a Beast. It wouldn’t be the same without Cuisiner’s magic touch—he always swore up and down that he followed all the recipes, he didn’t do sorcery upon the meals, and yet there was that… _personality_ to his culinary delights that even Lumiere couldn’t replicate.

“I’ll bring some up to you if you're staying in the library?"

A swell of gratitude rose in him, even as he reflected that he still did not feel any hungrier than before. If it were possible, he felt _less_ hungry than he had at lunch. Still, he could not bring himself to say “no” to Belle, who was obviously trying so hard to help him even in the midst of all this sorrow.

“Thank you,” he said in his most grateful voice.

* * *

The dinner and tea she left next to his seat as she dabbled a little at her own meal--she didn't, to his gratitude, pester him to eat--a while later cooled down slowly, steam dissipating as he left it uneaten, untouched. The sun disappeared from the sky, and night, such _night_ , such darkness to remind him of the absence of Lumiere, who would have lit the candles soon as the stars began peeping out. His meal still beckoned to be eaten—it smelled so exquisite _,_ and yet he had no desire to taste a single bite of it.

But soon, his stomach had other thoughts, rumbling at him even as his spirit was too unwilling to make the effort to nourish himself. 

_How can I be hungry yet not want to eat? But I have to. For Belle’s sake._

What would his servants say were they to know he refused to eat or drink in his sorrow? Would they encourage him to eat anyway? But then, if they _were_ here, if they were alive and _human_ again, then he wouldn’t need to wonder.

_We should be dining together now, celebrating our return to humanness._

But instead here he was, with his food and tea sitting cold and sad beside him.

_What would they think, were they to see me now?_

He closed his eyes, trying to remember how they had looked as human beings—the colour of their hair, their eyes, the way they expressed joy, sadness, anger, and the whole breadth of human emotion in between. The little quirks they had that made them so unique—how Plumette walked with the air of a ballerina, pointing her toes like a dancer, or the way Lumiere always flourished with his hands with little flicks of his wrists, or how Cogsworth fidgeted with his pocket watch when deep in thought. All the little things they did that made them so human.

_If only I had been less selfish, less cruel…then they would still be here._

Reaching over, the prince picked up the cold mug of tea, bringing it to his lips. He tried not to wince as the cold liquid hit his tongue, but he drank it anyway, if but to quench his thirst, draining the tea in a few sips. He recalled with bitterness how prophetic his servants’ remarks about what he would find himself doing were he not to succeed in saving them.

_Well now here I am after all, drinking cold tea in the dark._

Not that the darkness lasted for long when Belle found some matchsticks and lit a candlestick--not a candelabra, just an ordinary candlestick—and brought it back to their sofa. 

"Adam, you really need to eat something. Please. Even just a few bites is better than nothing."

The candlelight flickered in the room as Belle set the candlestick down. Knowing full well she wasn’t going to relax fully until he had _something_ to eat, the prince set the tea back down on the table and picked up the dinner plate with its fork. Silence passed, but for the clinking of his fork against the plate as he slowly nibbled his way through a fraction of the morsels.

“How would you feel about visiting the village tomorrow?” Belle asked.

“Why?”

“I wish to see father, to tell him what has happened here at the palace. If you do not mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Would you come with me?”

“To visit your village? From how you have spoken of it—”

“I know, I know,” Belle interrupted quickly, “But there are still good people in the village, including my father, and the priest of the village who loans me his books.”

He imagined the servants—regardless of their form now—left behind in the wake of his and Belle’s departure from the castle.

“It won’t be for forever, Adam, and I want to see if someone has any idea what’s going on here, and if there is a way for the curse to be fully broken.”

“Who in your village would?”

“I don’t know, but…I feel like there’s an answer in the village.”

“You expect to find the Enchantress there?”

“How did she first appear to you?” Belle asked suddenly, “If you feel like discussing it at all, of course.”

“You mean on the night she first cursed me?” At Belle’s nod, he continued. “She appeared to me as an elderly lady seeking shelter from the storm,” he winced, “I turned her away—I was a terrible person back then. I know you would have taken her in.” He stared down at his plate, the memories of that night chasing away any threads of hunger he might have had. “When I refused her again, she turned into a beautiful Enchantress. And…the rest is history.”

“Do you recall anything else?”

“She left one last name in my head, which I believe was hers.”

“What was the name? Do you remember?”

“Agathe.”

He heard Belle’s soft gasp, and in the candlelight, her eyes grew wide. “Agathe. It could be coincidence, but…there is an elderly woman in my village with that name.”

“Does she have a particular… _affinity_ for roses?”

“I believe she does.”

“How long has she been in the village?”

“A long time, I suppose, I never asked her.”

_Could she be the one?_

“There are many old women with the name Agathe,” Adam dismissed, “Probably a mere coincidence.”

“We can’t help but try.”

_Maybe Belle is right, even if there’s not much of a chance of it._

“Please, Adam, I would like to tell my father what had happened, and we can find Agathe. Will you come tomorrow morning?” Belle heaved a great sigh. “I just feel so… _awful_ being here right now. It is still home…but a home that’s too empty, too sad. Do you understand?”

He closed his eyes for a minute, the glow of candlelight burning under his eyelids. He could not bear to bring himself to leave the castle, to leave the servants behind—even if they were now inanimate household articles—but Belle just seemed so… _convinced_ about Agathe, and he knew how much her father meant to her. He had seen it for himself before.

“Tomorrow morning,” he agreed at last, “We go to the village. Together.”


	4. Here They Sang About Tomorrow

No sooner had the dawn broken over the castle, still dull, still overcast with death’s presence, then both Adam and Belle were rubbing sleep out of their eyes. He didn’t have to ask Belle to know that she too was impatient to get ready to go to the village with Adam, to tell Maurice what had happened. Even if he couldn’t help them, perhaps he might offer comfort, as empty as it might feel to the prince.

_Do I deserve to be called a “prince” anymore? Or should I become as a pauper, drifting from one poor village to the next?_

Maybe he could live in the village with Belle, find some quiet cottage far in the most isolated reaches of France’s countryside as they could find. Somehow, somewhere, they could start over, far away from the castle, and—assuming everyone still had forgotten the prince’s and the castle’s existence—he could start over as a new person.

_Somehow, someday, somewhere…_

But to do that, he’d have to abandon his household—anyone else might have found it easier, but he could never forget whom they had once been. He couldn’t just leave them forever, not without feeling as though he had betrayed them—again. How could he ever forget their betrayed faces when he had confessed he had let Belle go because he loved her more than he loved himself?

_They had every right to hate me when I couldn’t set them free._

It wasn’t until he was pulling on his shoes that he realised he had been putting on his clothes—as plain as he could find—with complete autonomy, his thoughts completely distracted by his lamentations. He tried not to think about how still the castle was—no knock at the door followed by Mrs Potts asking if he’d like a cup of tea. And if he went down to the modest dining room adjoining the kitchen, there would be no clanging and shouts of the cooks getting breakfast ready. No Chapeau setting the table, no Chip running around, impatient for breakfast to be served, no Lumiere literally singing out orders and running commentary in the kitchen, no Cusinier yelling at anyone who dared to lean too near him while he cooked, let alone cross his path.

_This is all my doing._

“You’re coming down for at least some breakfast, aren’t you? I refuse to let you waste away to nothing.”

His stomach rumbled in agreeance with Belle, but he couldn’t feel less like mustering the energy to eat breakfast.

“Even just a little breakfast is better than none,” Belle persuaded, as though she had just read his thoughts.

Another rumble from his belly, more insistent this time.

_May as well. Isn’t it not true breakfast is the most important meal of the day?  
_

 

Belle had been right to persuade him to the kitchen to have a small breakfast—he had no idea where she had managed to find the food, but found it she had. Despite having felt he couldn’t eat anything, it took just a couple bites to convince him that he could manage to have at least something without feeling like he was going to be sick.

“Nowhere near as excellent as your cook’s,” Belle said by way of apology as she ate across from him, “And I’m afraid I’m not as much of a performer as Lumiere.”

Adam waved away her apologies. “Still delicious.”

“Trust me, my cooking is nowhere near palace fare. It’s no beef ragout or cheese soufflé.”

“When it is cooked by your own hand, it may as well be.”

Despite herself, Belle gave him a sweet little smile. “Thank you, Adam.”

He paused in his eating for a moment to look around the kitchen, taking in the empty benches, the plates sitting still in glass cabinets, and the absolute… _stillness_ of this wretched place that should have been so full of lively cooking. Then—he tried to imagine this kitchen so much smaller, but not uncomfortably so.

_What sort of kitchen does Belle have at home?_

Did her kitchen lift sleepy souls at dawn and comfort weary hearts at night with the aromas of bakery and spices?

“What is your kitchen like at your house in the village?”

Belle sat back in her chair, hands folding a napkin on the table top. “It’s much smaller than your kitchen—but it is very comforting all the same. There’s always some fresh bread on the bench with some butter in the morning.” Her eyes took on a wistful look. “I have a modest vegetable garden planted outside that I always loved to tend to.”

“You garden too?” Adam’s eyes drifted to her soft hands.

“All kinds of fresh vegetables,” Belle confirmed, “Fresh greens are my specialty if I say so myself.”

“You make lots of vegetable soups?”

“Of course,” Belle said, and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as though to recall the aromas of her favourite recipes, “I always make them in winter, with whatever herbs or spices we are able to afford or collect from the garden.”

“You must make plenty of delicious food then?”

“My father is the biggest admirer of my cooking.”

Adam smiled softly, despite himself, “Consider me another admirer of your cookery too.”

Reaching over to take his hand, she locked eyes with his. “Still not palace fare, my love.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers with the lightest of touches. “It is enough for me.”

 

It wasn’t long before the two were ready to set out to the village, in the hopes they might find the Enchantress, or at least meet someone who knew of her. Much as he tried telling himself he wasn’t really abandoning his servants, his gut still squeezed with the idea he was still betraying them anyway, leaving them all alone to rust forever and collect dust.

 _How terrible it is that only when we lose someone, only then do we realise how much we needed them,_ the prince mused as he walked hand in hand with Belle through the giant courtyard toward the main gates, the castle doors still open.

He’d thought losing his own mother had been terrible enough the first time, and he had believed with utmost certainty back then that he would never feel such pain again.

_I wish I could say I was right…_

The clang of the gate opening—unlocked by Belle—jolted his thoughts back to the present, allowing himself to stop to take one last glance back at the castle. His eyes searched for the windows of the servants’ quarters, knowing they were in there, still in their inanimate forms, all memories, senses, and very _souls_ lost. Perhaps forever.

_I hate myself._

He let those three words singe his own heart, but just one look into Belle’s eyes was enough to give him courage to keep walking. To try and keep himself hoping that maybe, just maybe, they might find the Enchantress. He was barely aware of stepping outside the gates, watching numbly as Belle shut them again. She reached an arm around his waist, leaning her head on his chest as they both looked upon the castle for the last time before going to the village.

“I wish I could have set them free too,” Adam confessed, “I had…I had told them as much the night I had set you free to help your father.”

“Oh Adam…I’m sorry, I wish I had known how to break the spell.”

“No,” the prince disagreed, “It was for the best. If you knew you had to love me to break the spell, it…would not have worked as desired.” Letting go of Belle, he let his hand grasp hers, squeezing it softly. “Let’s go, my love.”

But as they strolled away from the palace gates, he was sure he could feel a part of his soul clinging on to the rungs of the gate.

 _I will free you somehow, or I don’t know how I shall live, even with Belle at my side,_ he promised—how many times had he promised them this now—his servants.

His servants whom he had come to see as family, never minding that not a one of them was related by blood to him. The selfsame servants who had been so loyal to him for all his life, who did not abandon him, even when they could, as a human or Beast.

 _I cannot bring mother back, but I swear I will see you returned to life,_ somehow.

He could only hope it was a promise he could keep.

 

It was a longer path to Belle’s village than he had expected, walking side by side, the trees on either side shading them with canopies of leaves and branches hiding the sky from their view. Birds twittered among themselves, fluttering unseen in the trees and thick, green undergrowth. Only half an hour too late into their walk did it finally occur to him that they ought to have taken Belle’s horse to the village, but he had no energy to turn around and walk back to an empty castle, even if just for the horse. Evidently, the same thing had occurred to Belle, who brought it up not much longer after the idea struck him.

“How has it taken this long for me to think of it!” Belle exclaimed out of the blue. “We ought to have taken Phillipe—at least, thank goodness, he has enough hay to keep him going for the next few days.”

“It just came to me too,” Adam confessed, “I have no desire to return to the castle so soon, unless you wish—”

“I don’t either—and we aren’t too far now anyhow. Strange, isn’t it, the little obvious things that slip from your mind when you’re grieving.”

“I do not believe we are alone in that experience.”

 

At long last, the walls of the village came into view, and Adam could hear Belle’s sigh, reminding him at once that she had grown up in this small town, alone even in the presence of a small population. He knew full well that awful sensation of being surrounded by so many people, yet thinking for all that company, he may as well be as alone as someone living on the moon.

“Not long now,” Belle promised as they stepped through the entrance into the bustling village. Already people were stopping in their tracks to stare at them, one young lady with piercing dark eyes and skin the same colour as Plumette’s dropping her basket as her eyes popped open at the sight of them.

“Good heavens!” the befuddled villager cried, “Belle!”

The villager forgot all about her basket, running to embrace a surprised Belle, who patted her on the back in a polite response. Pulling back, the beautiful villager turned her head to stare at Adam.

“Where on Earth did you find him? And why does he look so familiar?”

“Sophie!” called a young man behind her, scooping up the abandoned basket as he ran to the villager’s side, “Sophie, what are you doing?”

“Talking to Belle and this fine gentleman,” Sophie explained, her eyes still not wandering from Adam’s and Belle’s faces.

_Me? A “fine gentleman”? After all that has happened?_

“So, Belle!” Sophie grinned, “Wedding soon I expect?”

Belle laughed awkwardly, “Not for a while, I expect—and we must keep going, much as we would like to stop and talk to you.”

 _Find the Enchantress,_ Adam remembered, an ache of impatience threatening to rise in him,  _We need to talk._

Sophie’s face fell in disappointment, but then perked up with a cheerful grin. “Back to your books, I expect!”

With that, Sophie and her companion turned and disappeared back into the crowd of afternoon shoppers and workers.

"The Enchantress, Belle," Adam urged her on, "We need to look for her." 

They weren’t walking long before he suddenly stopped in his tracks, fingers clenching over Belle’s, eyes widening as he stared at a stall not too far before them. A stall with shelves of pottery and tea sets with all manner of teacups and saucers with fine detailing on them.

“What?” Belle asked, “What is it?”

“They _have_ all forgotten the castle and its inhabitants. She was right.”

“What are you talking about?"

“The Enchantress.” Adam cast unsettled blue eyes on his love, his voice hushed, “The night of the curse, she’d made it so that everyone forgot the castle and everyone inside it.”

Belle’s eyes turned back to look at the stall, a new look of shock wrinkling her forehead. “Are you telling me…”

“See him?” Adam nodded in the stall’s direction.

“Mr Potts?”

“I recognise him—he was Mrs Potts’ husband.”

Belle stumbled where she stood, but kept steady on her feet, even despite the shock of Adam’s revelation.

“And he’s _forgotten_ her? And _Chip_! What else has the Enchantress done?”

“I don’t know,” his voice became bitter, “Made sure the servants never became human again?”

“And Sophie! She thought she saw you from somewhere, didn’t she?”

“I could look like anyone,” he debated, “Perhaps I reminded her of someone else.”

“Perhaps so.” But Belle sounded doubtful, eyes now wandering over passing people. Perhaps she had begun now to wonder how many of these villagers had once known of a castle and its prince. “Let’s go.”

Then Belle suddenly grabbed his arm, pointing at some old woman who had seen them and was already coming in their direction.

“Agathe!” Belle whispered.

“You know her?”

Belle’s hand loosened on his wrist, but did not let go. “She is an old beggar woman who has always lived in this village. We have spoken a few times before—she is not all bad. An uncommonly kind soul in this village.”

_Agathe. Agathe. That name. Is it...her?_

Agathe stopped before them, eyes roaming from Belle’s to Adam’s, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at her gaze. 

“Come with me,” she beckoned of them, “I must speak with you.”

“Why?” Belle wanted to know.

“Just come with me. We will not be long.”

The couple followed the old beggar woman to the edge of town where the countryside met human settlement. Adam could smell wildflowers and fresh grass, and he heard the soft whispers of birds unseen. So far, he could see nothing of unusual note, only nature all around them—not that he was wont to complain about such pristine scenery.

Finally, Agathe held up a hand, signalling for them to stop, now turning around to face the pair again. Her eyes once again bored into Adam’s, never leaving his face as her withered hands went up to pull away her hood.

“I had an inkling you would return.”

Then, before their very own eyes, her elderly visage melted away, her clothes no longer so ragged and worn, her hair falling from its tie, no longer old and grey. Her hair became softer, grey fading to a soft blonde like she had caught the perfect golden dawn in her tresses. Her wrinkles faded away, softening into the smooth visage of youth, until she became a woman who looked no older than her mid-twenties.

“Agathe?” Belle’s voice shook, eyes the size of saucers.

But now his memories tore back in time to more than a decade ago. A single night when everything in his life had changed. Literally and painfully.

_I should have known._

His hands clenched into tight fists, nails digging deep into his palms. A hiss, like that of a furious swan, from between clenched teeth, the muscles of his lower jaw tight. One single word, seething in the smouldering ashes of pain, bitterness, fury.

“You!”

The Enchantress cast her cool eyes on him, and he wasn’t sure what he saw there. It was as if she was keeping her face carefully neutral, frustratingly, infuriatingly unreadable.  

“Good afternoon, Prince Adam.”


	5. Climbing to the Light

He isn’t sure if she is mocking him with her cool greeting, but either way, he grips on tighter to Belle’s hand, as though to give him strength to help him hold his temper at bay. He could control his temper far better now than before, but damn if there were moments like now where it threatened to rip loose out of him.

_I can’t lose my temper now, not if I want my servants free again._

He has to control his temper, has to show he’s worthy of being listened to this time. Prove that he has changed for the better, that he is no longer the selfish and tempestuous man he used to be before the curse was laid upon the castle.

For all the thoughts that are whirling through his head right now in search of anything, _anything_ to say to this Enchantress, he only manages a single word.

“ _Why?_ ”

 The enchantress tilted her head at the question, but did not dignify him with an answer.

“ _Why?_ ” he demanded again, drawing to full height, “Why save me and not my servants? The Italian musicians?”

“I saw Belle loved you. I heard her confession of love as I watched by the petal-less rose.”

His world spun for a moment, even in the midst of his indignation.

_It had fallen. The last petal had fallen._

“Adam?”

Belle’s arm had come around his waist, supporting him. He took a deep breath, steeling his shoulders, his will, eyes never wavering from the Enchantress’s.

“If you could save me even after the last petal had fallen, then why not the servants? If you could bring _me_ back to full human form, then why not them?”

“But you love Belle.”

_Of course I love Belle! Why—_

Then Belle said it, her voice angry and somehow betrayed at the same time.

“Romantic love isn’t the _only_ kind of love worthy of recognition, Agathe!”

Agathe tilted her head, looking over at Belle now. “Isn’t it the most important to humankind?”

This time, both Belle and Adam spoke the same word, emphatic in its single sound, firm and quietly furious.

“No.”

“The first love anyone knows when they’re born, Agathe,” Belle began, her voice hard and yet compassionate at the same time, “Is that of a _family’s love_. Do you not understand that?”

 _I understand,_ Adam thought, recalling when he had seen Belle at her most vulnerable moment when she discovered what had happened to her mother.

“She’s right,” Adam agreed, holding her closer to him, “It is a mother’s love—is that love any less or more worthy than romance?”

“And a—” Belle stopped herself midsentence, her eyes locking with his, shining with tears, “A _good_ father’s love.”

He dropped a quick, devoted kiss on the top of her head, sure that it was impossible to have fallen _even more_ in love with her than before.

“Yes, Belle,” he murmured, and letting her go, he stepped toward the Enchantress, voice shaking with hidden fury. “Would you dare look me in the eyes and say my love for my dear, departed mother is _unworthy?_ Say it, Agathe. _Say it._ Tell me that my mother’s, and Belle’s mother and father’s love is less important than romantic love. Say it!”

“Why do you wish me to say it?”

“Because you clearly believe it to be so.” His words grew in volume, untethered in their indignation, “Tell me if I’m wrong, but do you believe the love of friends and family insignificant in the presence of romantic love?” Adam’s glare is hot iron, burning into her eyes as he continued. “Will you refuse to acknowledge the pain you must _know_ I’m going through right now, knowing my friends—who were as close as family—are gone, forever, and knowing every hour of every day since that I am at fault for it too.”

“He’s right,” Belle agreed, “He loved his servants, and his servants loved him in return, despite his flaws.”

“He was spoilt, selfish, and unkind.”

“So you cursed him for being _human?_ You cursed the servants for simply _not_ doing anything?” Belle demanded. “What _could_ they have done against a _king_?”

“More,” the Enchantress responded, face still neutral as ever, but the prince is sure he saw a flash of uncertainty in her eyes.

“They were _servants_ ,” the prince argued, “They had jobs at stake! If they disobeyed the king, even in good intentions, they would have been fired…or worse.” He swallowed, trying not to imagine all the gruesome ways his father could have executed the servants before his own eyes as a child—and his father _would_ have made damn sure he witnessed every second of it. “If they ever were at fault, then it was for wanting to keep their jobs at the castle and their own goddamn lives _at worst._ And thank God for that—because now I know how lifeless the castle is without them. No laughter, no love, no warmth. _Why?_ ”

His heart nearly stopped mid-step as another terrible thought hit him.

_The Enchantress as good as executed them and left their remains for me to find._

Of all the things his father could have done, now he knew none would have been as graphic as any execution the Enchantress could—and _had_ —come up with.

“And why me and my household in particular? Why not any one of hundreds of others out there who possess no hearts?”

“Remember Gaston?” Belle cut in, “Or the other villagers who made it known how they felt about me? Why not _them_?”

“They are not the rulers of a village.” Agathe said, “They did not tax the poor to fill their house with grandeur.”

Adam’s shoulders sagged. “Actions I look back upon and regret.”

“They showed more compassion than the prince had to an old beggar woman—”

“Gaston would never have shown you the least of compassion, let alone take you in to their home! Agathe, many in the village saw you as just “that old spinster”.” Belle argued, “How are they any different than how the prince had been before you turned him into a Beast?”

“They do not have riches to tax their people with, as princes and nobles do.”

Belle shook her head. “You can be poor and still a terrible person, Agathe. Have you not seen how the village treated me, aside from the very few who treated me well? For all the people there, it was a lonely village. Almost as lonely as the prince’s castle.”

_Now even lonelier with the loss of my servants._

“I have my own reasons for why I did what I had to do,” the Enchantress said, “I only wished to warn the Prince if he doesn’t change, worse would be to come.”

“Like what?” Adam demanded.

She simply turned unreadable eyes on him. “France is changing, and her monarchy and nobility will soon be in fatal straits. You are one of the few who still had an inkling of warmth in his heart. Forgotten too long, but then remembered in time.”

“What is it that you see changing?”

“It is not for me to reveal what the future will hold. This is all I can tell you, I have told you as many of my reasons as I could, Prince Adam, for why I had to do what I did.”

“Why are you being so cryptic?”

“The future is not to be divulged to those unknowing of it,” the Enchantress now offered a small smile, “I’m afraid I cannot tell you more than what I have.”  

The prince would have continued to argue with her, but a sudden, heavy tiredness sagged into his bones, the fatigue of sorrow and forgotten hunger now returning to him. Strange how even a conversation—especially an emotional one—just wore him out so much more easily now. He was just so… _tired,_ the energy of confrontation having drained him much too easily in the midst of all this pain and sorrow.

_Whatever future she can see, I don’t want any part in it, if my servants are not free and human too._

Closing his eyes, the image of his servants in their inanimate forms flashed against the undersides of his eyelids. He tried to remember what they had looked like once upon a time, tried to imagine them being human again, free to do anything, even leave the castle.

_I wouldn’t stop them either._

He opened his eyes, and turned to gaze upon Belle one last time, hoping she saw all the love he had for her.

_I love you, Belle._

Turning back again, he drew closer to the Enchantress, who did not waver from where she stood. He was ready to do anything, _anything_ so long as his servants were returned to human life.

“I have told Belle once that I would willingly endure the pain of returning to Beast form, giving up my humanity for good, if it meant my servants—my _family_ , blood relatedness be damned—will be human again. I love Belle with all my heart, but I love my servants too, perhaps just as much.”

The Enchantress’s eyebrows arched up to her hairline in a show of surprise.

“You would give up your humanity in exchange for theirs?”

“ _Yes_. My servants—my friends—didn’t abandon me even when I was at my worst, and I will not abandon them to their fate if I can help it. If you can bring me back to humanity, then you can give them back their humanity too. If it takes me returning to Beast form forever to do it, then I, Prince Adam, _command_ you to do it. Even at the cost of my humanity, if not my own life.”

The Enchantress quietly considered him, eyes never wavering from the prince’s face.

“And the villagers,” he added, “If it means the villagers will remember their loved ones at the castle again, and reunite with them. My life and memories for theirs, Enchantress.”

Was it just his imagination, or did the Enchantress’s lips curl at one corner in the smallest hint of a smile?

“You _have_ changed, Prince Adam.”

He shook his head. “I do not care to know how much I have changed, as long as I am too aware that my servants have not regained their own human forms.”

“You are willing to sacrifice your own humanity for your servants’ lives, and the villagers’ memories.”

The Enchantress regarded him and Belle for what felt like forever, before she finally spoke again, but whatever Adam expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t what he thought it would be.

“Take me to your castle.”

* * *

 

The prince expected another long walk back to the castle, and he wondered how on Earth they would get there before nightfall. It would be a long, dark walk through the forest, even with a bright moon up.  

“Why are you taking us back to the castle, Agathe?” Belle asked of her, her voice fraying with her own impatience. “What is the _point_ of this?”

“You will see,” was their only answer.

“See what?” Adam demanded, almost tripping over an unseen rock, hand gripping Belle’s shoulder to steady himself, “See what I have done to all those who live in the village and the castle? Believe me—”

“No, it is not for that.”

“Then what is it for?”

“You will see. Stop.”

They halted in their tracks as Agathe held up a hand, before pointing off in another direction. The sun had already set below the treeline, cool rays filtering through the leaves, coating them in weak light. It would not be long before stars peeked through shivering leaves as owls hooted softly from high in the branches.

“We must have sustenance before moving on,” she told them, “My home is this way.”

“Wait, you have a _house_?” Belle asked, surprise plain for all to hear.

“It’s modest, but comfortable.”

Modest and comfortable were the perfect adjectives to describe the Enchantress’s small abode in a well-hidden part of the forest. But it was the scents that caught Adam’s attention first—earthy herbs, wildflowers, and fresh soil danced in his senses. He flinched a little when he heard the screech of some sort of unseen animal.

“Athena, yes, I’m home.” On Belle and Adam’s enquiring look, she explained, “Athena is my owl.”

Agathe’s home was a small wooden home with an outside porch sheltered by overhanging tree branches and a small roof. On the porch stood several careworn chairs that nonetheless looked achingly inviting to Adam’s weary body which was now crying out for somewhere to rest his aching feet upon.

_I do not think I have ever walked this much in one day in my whole life._

“Take a seat, any seat,” Agathe waved over at the seats on the porch, “We will rest and eat for a few hours before continuing. There is a bright moon out tonight.”

Belle and Adam took their places on the largest sofa next to each other, his beloved snuggling into his side, her head resting on his chest, rising and falling with his breath. She always looked so peaceful with her eyes closed, and he couldn’t resist stroking the side of her face, smiling when her lips curved up in a small smile at his tender touch.

_Oh Belle, how could I ever tell you how deep my love runs for you? I love you, God as my witness, I love you so much more than anyone could ever say._

The food and drink Agathe served up was simple—large bready buns heavy with herbs, and some peculiar slightly bitter-tasting liquid in small mugs. At first, Adam had been wary of the food—as had Belle—but hunger won out. When he bit into the floury bread, he suddenly realised just how little he had been eating the last couple days. Maybe Agathe had put some enchantment in the food and drink, but his stomach suddenly became more welcoming of the sustenance without so much as a complaint or hint of reluctance. He even managed to have a second bun, but declined to have another sip of the bitter drink with what he presumed to be herbs floating in the liquid. When he and Belle finished their little meal, Agathe offered another small smile.

“Now you have more energy to continue the trek, if you are ready.”

At least Agathe was right about the bright moon tonight, shining through leaves stencilled against the stars, lighting the earthy path as the Enchantress led them onward to the castle. The heavy bread and bitter drink felt heavy in his stomach, but nor did he feel ill from the meal. His legs did not wobble with weariness, nor his feet ache with fatigue. Nor did he feel drowsy, though sure that the hour must have been growing late. Time didn’t seem to exist, how late the hour a complete mystery. All he could do now was follow the Enchantress, praying she would finally put things to right, that his servants would once again be human. All he could do now in the presence of owls’ hoots and a restless breeze rustling through the trees was hold on to Belle’s hand, hers just as tight on his.

* * *

 

After what seemed to him like hours of walking—at least a couple hours anyway, judging by how much the moon had moved in the sky overhead—they finally arrived at their destination, the palace shining in the moonlight. Adam’s heart clenched as he saw just how _dark_ it was inside. There was always at least a few torches lit, especially outside, but not even one wick burned tonight. No light but for the moon staring down at the land far, far below. The castle gates loomed before them, the iron rungs glinting and glowing with the moonlight falling over them.  The shadows of the rungs fell over the ground, stretching over their feet where they stood.

“Allow me to open them,” Agathe whispered, raising a hand to the gate. “I have done it once before.”

A loud, metallic clang rang in the couple’s ears, telling them the lock had been undone, even though all the Enchantress had done was raise a hand, and had not touched the gate at all.

“Follow me.”

As Belle and Adam followed the Enchantress, the gates creaking shut behind them, he allowed his mind to wander over the sight of the courtyard bathed by the light of the moon. Flowers looked so different at night, their blooms closed to the stars, waiting for the sun to rise again. The water spouting from the marble fountains turned into streams of liquid pearl under the moon’s touch, dissolving in the water at its base, winking with broken moonlight. Something about it gave him that utter sense of calmness, soothing his sorrows like fine red wine.

The magic of the moment shattered when they came upon the steps of the main entrance into the castle. Though the moonlight cast the silent musicians mostly into shadow, the silhouettes of a wardrobe and harpsichord still stood out in sharp relief. And now, to Adam’s stricken eyes, the moonlight suddenly became cold and harsh, delivering a slap to his face with the reminder of all that had been done.

He clenched his eyes shut, trying not to sway too much on his feet, desperately thinking of Belle’s warm hand clutching his.

_Belle is here, she’s right here, holding my hand. Belle, Belle, Belle…_

“These were the musicians, am I not mistaken?”

His eyes fluttered open, seeing that Agathe had stopped right between the wardrobe and the harpsichord.

“Yes,” Adam managed, “Madame de Garderobe and Maestro Cadenza. And we would have brought them inside too, were they not so impossible to carry in their forms.”

“And the others?”

Adam started to explain, but his voice caught in his throat, choking out any words that might have come.

“He laid them to rest in the servants’ quarters—Lumiere and Plumette with each other, and Mrs Potts with Chip,” Belle explained on his behalf, “And believe me, I was there when we carried them there. If you had seen how he broke down in my arms after, perhaps you would have realised how much he loved them.”

Adam inhaled a shaky breath, gesturing at the harpsichord and wardrobe with his hands. “I may have met them before _that_ night, but believe me, I care about the Maestro and Madame too.” His voice hardened, summoning more courage from somewhere in him. “Now is your chance, Enchantress, to show you _will_ return them to human form.”

Silence from the Enchantress, silence that seemed to stretch forever, her silhouette framed by moonlight. When she finally spoke, it was in a voice no louder than a whisper.

 “When the sun rises, Prince Adam, all will be well within the castle, everyone returned to humanity. The villagers will awake at sunrise, their memories restored.”

“Promise?”

Silence, and then—

“Yes. Now go, sleep, and you will see all is well in the morning at sunrise.”

Without another word, the Enchantress glided past them, back down the steps, not looking back at them even once. Belle and Adam remained silent, arms around each other, as they watched her disappear into the darkness of the courtyard, the distant creak of gates cutting through the night as she returned to the forest.

“I don’t think I could sleep tonight,” Belle confessed.

“Nor will I,” the prince agreed, leaning his head on Belle’s, “But much as I distrust her, she is right. We must at least sleep even a little while.”

Arm in arm, they walked up the rest of the steps, both turning at the same time to look at the wardrobe. Belle began to reach out toward the wardrobe, but then withdrew her hand, hesitant, instead letting it drop back by her side.

“She sung so beautifully,” Belle murmured, “I can’t help but miss her singing now.”

“Europe has been bereft of her voice and memory for far too long.”

“You will sing again, Madame,” Belle said to the wardrobe that once was the opera singer, “And as a human, not a wardrobe.” A pause, then, to the prince, “She won’t hear me, yet…”

“It’s alright, Belle,” Adam stopped her, “It’s not silly at all. I did it all the time in my mother’s rose garden. Until—until father stopped me. Said only fools did that.”

“He was absolutely _wrong,_ ” Belle declared, sounding indignant on his behalf, “I don’t think it is foolish at all.”

“I don’t think so either, my love.”

With that mutual reassurance, they fell quiet again, regarding the wardrobe they prayed would be human again come the sunrise. Adam looked down to see the footstool, remembering how it had once been the opera singer’s lapdog.

“You were a good boy,” he told it, “You didn’t deserve any of this—the Enchantress had better restore you too.”

Standing up, he turned around, as did Belle at the same time, to regard Cadenza, or at least, the harpsichord that once had been the musician.

“Europe needs your music, Maestro. I only hope you will be allowed to make fine music again as a man, not a harpsichord.”

_If only they could somehow hear us, even now._

Taking one last look at Cadenza, Garderobe, and Frou-Frou, the couple turned to face the entryway into the castle. A chill ran down Adam’s spine as he stared into the darkness of the entranceway, yawning away into what seemed to be nothing but the pitch black of night.

_Is this how Belle and her father felt the first time they walked into this dark, still castle?_

Suddenly, he wanted to stay out here, even though the air had already become cool enough that goose-bumps leapt up along his arms. But he had to be strong, he had to believe that the castle would return to its days in the sun.

Taking a deep breath, holding Belle close to his side, he slowly made his way into the castle, but not to their own rooms. Instead, they headed down the hall leading to the servants’ wing, where they could stay in the sitting area until dawn finally swept over the castle. The thought of getting a few hours’ sleep made him feel even sleepier than before, a deep drowsiness overcoming him, and he had to force his eyes to stay open.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Belle asked just as his hand touched the door handle. “We can turn and go back to our rooms now.”

The prince stalled as he asked himself how sure he was that he wished to return to what he knew was a wing devoid of life.

_If the Enchantress keeps her promise, it won’t so lifeless by dawn._

“Stay with me,” he murmured.

Opening the door, the prince stepped inside, letting out a slow breath in an effort to steady himself, to try to keep himself together. He had Belle at his side, she would not abandon him, not now, not ever.  He would not be completely alone in here, as long as she was at his side.

“Perhaps we should look for some blankets?” Belle suggested, “I believe there are spare ones in my room.”

A shiver up his spine from the cool night air had him nodding and murmuring his agreement.

“I won’t take too long,” she promised, “Just sit down somewhere. I’ll be back.”

Feeling his way into the room as Belle departed to find some blankets, the prince eventually found a sofa to flop down on, lying back on it with his head tucked up against one armrest, and his feet against the other. The cushions and material was so _soft,_ so comforting, like a warm embrace. Or did it only feel comfortable because he was so sleepy?

_I’ll close my eyes for a few minutes…_

* * *

 

Someone was shaking him awake, gently calling his name. With a jolt, he woke up, only to find it was Belle leaning over him, her facial features just discernible in the deep blue pre-dawn light. He realised sub-consciously that a couple blankets had been draped over him—Belle’s work, no doubt.

“Adam?”

“Mm—I’m awake.”

“Adam, it’s just dawn now,” Belle whispered, “I had thought I should go down to be with Maestro Cadenza and Madame de Garderobe to be with them when they become human again. But I can stay here if you desire me to. I just thought if you’d rather have a few minutes alone with the servants while I’m with the musicians, I will understand.”

Much as he would have loved to have Belle with him, at the same time, he felt he would be grateful for a few minutes alone with his servants. Besides, the musician couple outside would be confused were they to turn human again only to find no one else around.

“Thank you, Belle—best you keep the musicians company so there’s someone there with them when they become human.”

“Are you sure?”

Adam managed a weak smile. “Very sure.”

“Then it’s settled.”

They shared a soft kiss for a few moments, before Belle pulled back, tucking strands of his hair behind his ear with tender fingers.

“I love you, Adam.”

“You too, my love.”

One last, quick kiss on the lips, and Belle straightened up, turning and walking away, departing from the servants’ wing, leaving Adam alone with his still sleepy thoughts. But he couldn’t go back to sleep now that it fully hit him that it was _dawn._

Pushing the blanket off himself, the prince raised himself to his feet, walking to a window that faced east over the gardens. Though the sun had not yet peeped out from beyond the horizon, the eastern sky glowed yellow, melting into the pale blue unique to dawn. The clouds hovering in the east seemed to glow with an intense red-orange hue, spilling lighter shades of pink onto other clouds in the sky. He tried to imagine that same light flowing over the rose garden that had been so dear to his mother, and how the flowers would be brushed in soft dawn hues. Somewhere, he could hear a chorus of birds heralding the coming dawn, and he closed his eyes, praying in that moment that once sunrise came, the servants would be able to see and hear the peace of dawn once again.

_It would be even more enchanting, if only you were all human again._

A memory, unbidden, tip-toed into his head of how he would often sit on his mother’s lap as a small child, cuddled up in her arms, watching at a window as the dawn stretched sleepily over the sky, staining the clouds with puddles of pink and brushes of orange and red. How she would sing her favourite lullaby to him as the east yawned golden light, leaving behind wonderful colours as it stretched into the sky.

_Days in the sun, where my life has barely begun…_

Casting his eyes away from the dawn, Adam looked around at the silent quarters, still so quiet, the doors shut, leaving them to rest in peace. They had all been so loyal to him all his life, never leaving even when they could have done so. How did he ever deserve such loyalty and love from them? They didn’t _have_ to stay, not even when they were still humans, and yet they did, even despite his cruellest and darkest days as a prince before the curse. How could he ever repay their loyalty and love?

 _Not until my whole life is done, will I ever leave you._  

 But as the dawn lightened until everything inside and outside was in sharp relief, his tension and deep fear grew. He tried to push the thoughts away, the ones that asked what if it was a lie, but still they persisted. What if the Enchantress had tricked them? What if the sun rose and rose until it was already midday, and still it was all too still in the castle, the spell still upon his subjects?

_No—no, I have to be strong. For their sake. For Belle’s sake. For mine._

Then—the first peek of the sun, an intensely bright sliver of gold flashing on the eastern horizon. He tried to listen for anything, _anything_ that would tell him all was well, closing his eyes as he strained his ears as much as possible.

_Please come back, please come back…_

His shoulders tensed, arms wrapping around himself as he stood there, brow furrowed, eyes shut, desperately begging for a sign, _any_ sign that all was well. The sun was already rising, its light intensifying under his closed eyelids.

His eyes flew open at the sound of a door clicking open, its movement caught in his peripheral vision. Forgetting the sunrise, he whirled around, eyes wide, barely breathing, hardly daring to believe it was real. But there—there! One of the doors was opening, _opening_ —slowly pushed aside to reveal a very stunned-looking Chapeau, who stood in the doorway to his own room.

_Human, he’s human, not a cloak hanger._

Chapeau was as tall as the prince remembered him to be—or was he just a _little_ taller than before, as though some remnant of the tall cloak hanger remained in him? His clothes were as immaculate as ever, golden shoes—once the feet of a cloak hanger—standing out against the man’s otherwise all black attire.

_Chapeau. He’s Chapeau. Human. Human again._

Chapeau turned his head, face breaking out in an expression of great astonishment on seeing the prince. His mouth opened once, twice, as though he wanted to say something, but the words would not come. Giving up on verbalising whatever he had intended to say, Chapeau simply bowed—as deep a bow as the prince ever had seen him do--in Adam’s direction, and when he straightened up again, there was a great, relieved grin on his face. The prince couldn’t help but smile back in return, a small one to be sure, but no less relieved than Chapeau’s.

“Human again!” Chapeau exalted as he held up his pale hands, staring from one to the other in amazement, before looking back at the prince again, “Thank you, my Prince.”

Adam could only nod in acknowledgement of Chapeau’s gesture of gratitude and respect.

Both men turned their heads to the sound of another door handle jiggling, Adam watching with bated breath as it, after what seemed an eternity, finally opened to reveal Cogsworth leaning on his cane, a monocle held up to an eye. No longer a clock made of springs and gears and wood and metal. Now he was once again an elderly stout man, decorated in medals of past victories in battles, his buttons’ engraved Roman numerals a ghost of the clock he once had been. Now, at last, he was human again. Adam could breathe just a little easier now.

 _Cogsworth. Chapeau._  

Cogsworth’s mouth fell open when he finally made eye contact with the prince, blue eyes wide with surprise at the sight of the human prince still standing at the window.

“Prince Adam!” he exclaimed, all smiles and movement as he began to shuffle in the prince’s direction. “True love really did save the day!”

Adam swallowed back his guilt, trying to smile anyway, glad Cogsworth and Chapeau didn’t seem any the wiser about what had happened—for now anyway. Perhaps when Belle came back, and he knew everyone were no longer inanimate, lifeless house-ware, then he might gather together whatever strength he could to explain.

“True love,” Adam echoed, as Chapeau walked across the room to join him and Cogsworth as well. “At first, anyway.”

He hoped neither would notice how his voice cracked, choked back with unshed tears of relief, or see the way his eyes shifted downward, or how his hand tightened on the window sill as he leaned heavily on the wall next to it. But despite that hope he had somehow hid his turmoil from them, Chapeau had apparently seen through it anyway.

“Something amiss, Prince Adam?” Chapeau asked.

Prince Adam bit back a sigh, lifting his head back up, not quite meeting their concerned gazes.

“I think…it is better if I explain when Belle returns,” was all he managed before he couldn’t trust his voice not to shake, not to halt or choke midsentence.

“I _did_ wonder why I was back in my room,” Cogsworth mused aloud.

“As did I,” Chapeau agreed.

“When Belle—” Adam took a deep breath, “When she returns…”

“Speaking of, where is the girl?” Cogsworth looked around the room, turning a little to look behind him.

“She is with the Maestro and Madame outside—so they won’t be alone when they become human, after all that has happened.”

Chapeau turned to look at him, “What _had_ happened?”

But before Adam could try to muster up the strength to explain, another door opened—this time, Mrs Potts’ room. But the first person to emerge was not the woman, but Chip, who was no longer a little teacup, but a human boy all of four or five years of age. He froze as soon as he spotted the three men standing together, but his eyes fixated completely on the prince.

“MAMA!” he shrieked back into the room, running back inside, “Mama, come quick!”

Not half a second later, Chip re-emerged, now pulling a broadly smiling Mrs Potts by her hand.

_She’s alive. Chip and Mrs Potts are alive. They’re here! Human!_

“Mrs Potts!” Adam blurted out, his legs now finding enough strength to rush him to where the lady was, “Chip!”

The prince stopped short of Mrs Potts, who looked at him with bright, proud eyes, the smile, if possible, becoming even more delighted as she reached out to take his face in her hands, reminding the prince of how his own mother used to do the same.

“I knew you could do it, Adam,” she said, “See? We’re all here now.”

Adam’s vision wavered, a burning behind his eyes as he threw his arms around Mrs Potts in a tight embrace, leaning his forehead on her shoulder, savouring the feeling of hugging another real, living person he’d had come to care about so much since childhood. No longer a fragile teapot who had to watch what she did lest she broke, but now a fully grown human woman whom, while nurturing and warm, was also refreshingly honest and no-nonsense.

Her hands came up and alighted on his back in a small, but no less heartfelt, hug, giving him a small comforting pat with a hand.

“It’s alright now,” she assured him, “We’re all here again. I foresee no cold tea in your future.”

Adam managed the weakest of laughs as he lifted his head off her shoulder, letting go of her. He could see her eyes were brighter than before.

“I’m proud of you, and I like to think we all are.”

The prince nodded, too moved to trust himself to speak—but Mrs Potts seemed to understand anyway. An insistent tugging on his shirt diverted his attention downward toward Chip, who was grinning up at him, the gap between his front teeth an echo of the crack in the rim of his old teacup form.

“I’m a little boy again!” he exclaimed at the prince, “Can I hug you?”

How could anyone, least of all the prince, say no to such a charming request? At once, Adam knelt down to the boy’s level, and pulled him into a warm hug, feeling the little boy’s arms curl around his neck.

“I like you lots more as a human than as a Beast,” Chip commented.

“Chip!” his mother admonished gently.

But Adam didn’t mind a bit—to be honest, he rather agreed a hundred percent with the child. Pulling back from the hug, his hands on the boy’s shoulders, he raised a hand to ruffle Chip’s hair playfully.

“I like me better as a man than a Beast too, Chip.”

Standing up, he took a moment to glance around the room, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Plumette and Lumiere were nowhere to be seen. A tremor of fear crawled down his spine.

_Oh dear God, don’t tell me they’re still inanimate._

Cogsworth seemed to have noticed this as well.

“Where’s Lumiere and Plumette?” he asked, a deep concern setting into his aged features.

“I put both of them in Lumiere’s room,” the prince explained, remembering all too vividly when he and Belle had carried the couple to the servants’ quarters, “I didn’t want to part them even as inanimate objects. If they’ve…returned, I expect they’re likely having a private moment together.”

A little shiver seemed to go through Cogsworth as he turned around to stare intently at the prince, some sort of realisation deep in his eyes.

“Stop me if I am mistaken, Master, but from what you are saying, you saw us in our inanimate forms after we had…faded away.”

A nod. Cogsworth bowed his head in deep empathy.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“And you brought us all up here?” Chapeau asked.

“Belle and I—we both did.” A deep breath here, looking around at the gathered household staff and Chip, “I—I cannot begin to put into words how—how terrible it was,” he caught Mrs Potts’ eye, “I didn’t think I would experience a worse loss than when mother passed away, but for the last two days…”

Chapeau exhaled audibly, his face white, clearly shaken. Cogsworth appeared stricken by the news, hand tightening on his cane.

“Two days?” Cogsworth echoed.

Adam felt more than saw Mrs Potts approach his side, one of her arms coming up to hug his shoulders, squeezing gently with her hand. When he glanced at her, he could see a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I cannot imagine how awful you must have felt, even if you had Belle for company.” Cogsworth shook his head with unspoken regret for all that his prince had to go through.

“If it weren’t for her, I believe I probably would’ve just…wasted away,” Adam confessed, “It was only because of her insistence that I had eaten anything at all.” He offered Mrs Potts a small, ironic smile. “I may have drank one or two cups of cold tea. In the dark.”

Mrs Potts looked like she was searching for something else to say to this, but everyone’s attention was then distracted by the last door starting to open. Adam’s breath caught in his throat, heart pounding—were Plumette and Lumiere alright after all?

Adam exhaled in dizzying relief when the head that popped out of the door to look out at them all was Plumette’s. Her eyes stared up at them in wonder, her face breaking out into a small, relieved smile before she disappeared back into the room, but did not close the door. Adam could only presume she was talking to Lumiere, and he wasn’t wrong, for the door was then pushed open all the way, revealing the maitre’d in full human form, no longer a cold, unlit candelabra. What once had been lifelessness was now a grown man full of his old life and energy. The prince could not think of a time when he had been more relieved to see Lumiere’s human features, no longer encased in stiff, immovable gold. Once again, he had the familiar blue eyes Adam knew so well—gone now were the embossed gold irises that passed for eyes in his candelabra form.

“Oh! My prince!” Lumiere greeted Adam, bowing to the prince with a great flourish of an arm, still as theatrical as always. Adam couldn’t help but smile in overwhelming relief at this.

As Adam paced from where the others were standing, toward Plumette and Lumiere, he paused as the former gave a little curtsey to him.

“Plumette,” he addressed her, “Thank heavens you’re here.” Then he turned to Lumiere, who was holding his arms out as if expecting a hug. Rendered speechless again by emotion, the prince threw his arms around Lumiere in a fierce embrace, closing his eyes in relief that he finally had his closest friend back too—now full of life and _human_ again. _This_ was the Lumiere he knew, full of vivaciousness and cheerfulness, not sombre, lifeless, his spark stolen by the last petal of that cursed rose.

Lumiere finally pulled back from the embrace, still grinning, hands clasping Adam’s arms—were they always that warm before? But at least now they were _warm_ , and not replaced by candlesticks.

“Hello old friend.”

Adam nodded, managing a genuine smile himself—it was hard not to with Lumiere’s infectious cheer—relief singing through him that he knew at least now they were all here—and he sorely hoped the same could be said for the musicians too.

“It’s so good to see you again,” Adam conceded, before Lumiere pulled him into another strong hug, quicker than the first one, but no less sincere.

They parted their embrace when another distant sound, the most beautiful, wonderful sounds floated up from down the hallway, Adam’s heart in his throat.

_Is that the musicians? Say it is so!_

Then—his heart soared to the heavens on hearing Belle’s shouting that the musicians were well, my love! The musicians are human again! Frou-Frou was a dog again! All was well! The Enchantress had promised them the truth after all! Adam’s jaw dropped when he saw that indeed the musicians were both human again, resplendent in their dramatic costumes from the night the Enchantress had visited.

“Adam!” Belle gasped, hands clapping over her mouth as she stared wide-eyed at the now-human castle residents. “Oh Adam! All is well!”

He couldn’t help it, couldn’t help tearing away from the others to grab her in a strong embrace, dipping her with a fierce, thankful kiss, feeling it returned with equal fervour.

_We are alive, so, so, alive!_

When they finally parted the kiss, then there was Chip’s exuberant voice again, shouting for Belle’s attention.

“Belle! It’s me! It’s Chip!”

Adam could see Belle was barely holding herself back from bursting into tears when she bent down to give him a hug as he ran into her arms with infectious happiness. While Belle was reuniting with Chip, Adam looked over at Madame de Garderobe and Maestro Cadenza, bowing his head in quiet thankfulness, pleasantly surprised when they bowed and curtseyed in return, their hands still clasped tight, clearly refusing to let go of each other, not for a long time now they were together again.

“Thank you, Prince Adam. Thank you.” Maestro Cadenza said, as he affected another deep bow, “You have our eternal gratitude for the rest of our days.”

Adam sunk into the nearest armchair and let his head sink in his hands, shoulders shaking not only from such utter, deep, wordless relief that everyone had their humanity returned to them, but also in the release of all the pain and grief he could now let go.

Their days in the sun had finally come shining through.


End file.
